


Solstice

by mvtk42



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Blue Sky (Portal), Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 11:03:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3287888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvtk42/pseuds/mvtk42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking place after "That's a No, Then," Wheatley has disappeared to plan a Solstice surprise for Chell, and she must follow the clues he's left to find him. (Permission to write using Blue Sky granted by Waffleguppies.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Blue Sky](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/96155) by waffleguppies. 



The crumpled note had been left propped against the tea tin, its creases a testament to the rough handling it had endured while being marked on. Chell smoothed it again on the table in front of her as she scanned its contents for the fifth time.

_mornin luv_   
_as you can see im not there as im off PreParing your Present_   
_you just wait right there anD Dont go Foxing aBout trying to Be clever_   
_Be Back in a mo_   
_your going to love it Promise_   
_Wheatley_   
_Ps no snooPing im ~~serri~~ ~~sery~~ ~~serius~~ I mean it_   
_PPs anD you shoulD Definitely aBsolutely not even Bother at all with going to Garrett Ricky as i’m Definitely aBsolutely not there_

There was no doubting it was from him. Beyond having his signature (which was a fairly grandiose word for what was basically rushed, slanted lettering that made his name appear in danger of falling over), no one over the age of seven could have mimicked the large, careful penmanship. She could easily imagine him bent over the paper, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth as he worked. The decision to simply capitalize troublesome letters rather than admit some difficulty differentiating between lowercase b’s, d’s, and p’s was also a major indicator. Relearning how to write was a slow process for the ex-personality core, compounded by Wheatley’s philosophy that having gotten down the basics, further struggle to refine the skill was unnecessary.

Chell drummed her fingers on the table, frowning in thought at the paper as she stirred her tea. The smartest course of action would be to follow the instructions on the paper and keep herself busy until Wheatley returned. It wouldn’t be difficult – she had a list of chores and errands as long as her arm that had to be finished before the winter solstice festival tomorrow evening, and the opportunity to complete them without him getting underfoot was an unexpected blessing.

Every year she volunteered a generous amount of baked goods, and as of today she was only halfway through her order. There was also some last-minute gift wrapping to be done, not the least of which was _his_ present. It had been difficult enough finding and purchasing the latest model broadcaster’s microphone underneath his omnipresent nose, and she had been starting to think she would have to convince Garret to wrap it for her. She also wanted to give another futile attempt to bring order to the chaotic flotsam Wheatley always seemed to leave in his wake.

Yet her oven remained off, the gifts stayed untouched on the far end of the table, and she made no move toward any of the scattered debris of clothing, shoes, and various knick-knacks he would abandon as his attention skittered from one activity to the next. The only thing she had managed to accomplish was to make a pot of tea, and that had been more out of habit than anything else – since regaining his ability to drink, Wheatley had immediately succumbed to the stereotype and dragged her down with him. Now the mornings seemed incomplete without “a cuppa.”

She tapped out another rhythm with her fingers, dropping her chin in her free hand without taking her eyes off the note. There were also some pressing reasons to _not_ take the given advice and to instead go investigate.

Wheatley being left to his own devices was nerve-wracked enough. He was still unused to being human, and tended to forget that he was no longer constructed of durable tech and that if he went out without a coat on he _would_ eventually get cold even if he wasn’t really all that chilly for the first few minutes he’d stepped out.

Wheatley being left to his own devices while he was trying to be _clever_ was an open invitation for disaster.

Underneath her valid concerns for his health and safety, Chell could not deny that there was a smaller, more selfish reason for her desire to go searching.

She was curious.

Chewing her lip, Chell drew the note closer to her and read it once again.

No. She would put some trust in Wheatley, she decided as she pushed it away. She would _not_ go and investigate, and she would wait until he returned. He had to learn how to fend for himself sometime, otherwise he would be permanently attached to her hip.

A small smile curled the corners of her mouth as she rose from her seat and headed up the stairs to get dressed.

In the meantime, if one of her errands _happened_ to be seeing if Garret needed her help for the festival preparations, well, she couldn’t be blamed for that, could she?

///

The town square was a riot of activity.

Michigan winters were not for the faint of heart, capable of a great deal of devastation to the unwary. Eaden had long since learned to endure these harsh conditions, earning mercy from the miserable climate. Though the surrounding areas were thick with snow, the streets were clear of it. The ground was still quite frozen, however – even with her heavy clothing the cold struck her the second she stepped out her front door.

The majority of Eaden’s population filled the open square, each focused on their task. The front of the building crawled with people hanging up the last of the lights and adding the final details to the decorations. Through the open doors it was easy to see people moving benches, cleaning, and setting up tables that would soon be laden with food. In a day’s time, the village hall would be full to bursting as everyone crammed inside, the community coming together as one to celebrate another successful year.

Chell weaved through the crowd, careful not to get in anyone’s way as she searched for that familiar crop of sun-bleached hair. She caught a brief glance of Ellie Otten, but for some strange reason the little girl’s eyes widened and she bolted away the second she saw Chell.

Garret Rickey was directing Martin Otten and Bill van Buren as they struggled to straighten the bunting above the main doors, shouting to be heard above the carols being sung inside.

“Martin, you keep your side steady. Bill, you gotta lift your end just a little bi – no, that’s a _lot_ , Bill. Bring it down. There you go – perfect!” he shouted, arms akimbo as a victorious grin stretched his mouth wide as the two men began their hammering. It took him a moment to notice that Chell had joined him, and when he did a grimace darkened his face and he let out a _tch._

“You just lost me a bet, you know,” he grumbled, his laughing eyes belying his hard words.

Chell’s eyes hooded as one brow slowly lifted.

Ignoring her expression, Garret crossed his arms in front of him and turned to face her fully as a smile stretched across his face. “Not too shabby, right?” he said, jerking a thumb at the decor. “Aaron left me in charge – he had to make an emergency run to Depot and didn’t get back until early this morning. This’ll be the first time he hasn’t run things, but I think he’ll be pleased with the end result.”

Glancing around her, Chell had to nod. “Looks great,” she said truthfully.

“But that’s not why you’re here, is it?” Garret said, his grin turning sly as he ran a thumb down the side of his nose. “I bet you’re here because of… _this._ ”

Chell’s eyes immediately latched on to the familiar-looking paper he produced from his front pocket. She reached for it, then scowled as he pulled it away.

“Is everything gonna be baked by tomorrow?” he asked with mock sternness.

Chell’s dirty look only made him chuckle, and he obligingly handed over the note. She managed to keep from snatching it, but only just.

_HA!_   
_caught you snooPing_   
_which i Distinctly rememBer telling you not to Do_   
_Definitely left a Bit of instruction regarding snooPing ie to not Do it_   
_But here you are_   
_anD DiD you really think i woulD Be that Daft?_   
_“im trying to Be on the sly oh let me just PoP Down exactly where im going shell never catch on Bloody Brilliant”_   
_honestly i know i have from time to time Done things that coulD possiBly have given the imPression that im a Bit thick_   
_But give me SOME creDit_   
_your going to have to Do Better than that if you want to overcome my Towering intellect_   
_so when i tell you im not at the Diner you shoulD not even waste your time going there_

A thoughtful frown bowed her mouth as she refolded the note and slipped it into her pocket.

Garret stood watching her, his smile fading into something close to worry.

“He gave me that note this morning. He wouldn’t say anything about what he had planned, but… he was really nervous, Chell. _Really_ nervous,” he said. “I haven’t seen him this amped up about something since… you know.”

Her jaw tightened.

Yes, she _did_ know. She couldn’t look at the old town sign without feeling a twinge of awkward shame twined around a hint of panic. It was all too easy to remember the jolt of fear choking off her breath as he folded himself down onto one knee. Visions of Wheatley hovering over her shoulder, jabbering nonstop in her ear for the rest of her life with nowhere to run and hide and _be alone_ had haunted her from that moment since, tightening the muscles between her shoulders every time she thought of it.

Garret placed a hand on her shoulder. “Be easy on him, Chell,” he said quietly. “It took him quite a while to get over the… _blunt_ response last time.”

She met his eyes, her lips pressing together in a thin line. He looked for something in her eyes, then pulled his mouth into a grin. “Aah, don’t listen to me. Who knows? Maybe he’s got something else up his sleeve. You know him – anything new and shiny is enough to put him in a state. Probably wants to impress you with his paper snowflake making skills,” he said, turning his palms up in another shrug. “Thought he was going to go through every scrap of paper in Eaden, once he learned how to do that.”

Chell graced him with an amused hum and a smile of her own, but now that the suspicion was planted it refused to be ignored. She thanked him and left him to his work, mulling over her new clue.

And it _was_ a clue – he may be scatterbrained and slow to relearn basic human skills, but Wheatley wasn’t an idiot. Beyond the obvious directions, there was something about his wording – a phrase, here and there – that tickled the back of her mind, but refused to come out into the open to be examined.

She lifted her eyes and looked down the street, considering the diner’s general direction. After hearing Garret’s worries, half of her wanted to knock it all on the head, go home, and lose herself in her baking.

It wasn’t that she didn’t care for Wheatley, but she had yet to plumb the depths of those feelings and the thought of officially tying herself to him struck a claustrophobic chord in her. She needed _her space_ , and that was almost impossible to maintain with him. He wanted constant contact and reaffirmation that yes, she did still care for him, and no, she had not abandoned him in the past five seconds since the last time he’d checked.

Things had gotten somewhat rocky since Wheatley had attempted to propose. It had been especially tense, those first few weeks – walking on eggshells around each other as they attempted to settle with the new turn their relationship had taken. He’d been hurt and confused, and Chell was not equipped to be able to explain away that pain. Though they had eventually come to an unspoken agreement to pretend it had never happened, the memory lurked in the back of her mind.

She couldn’t go through that again. Not just the crawling-under-the-skin sensation that accompanied the thought of losing her independence, or the aggravation that was the direct result of trying to get it through to him that yes, she had meant “no,” and no, she wasn’t going to change her mind.

More than that, she was tired of the painful way her heart twisted whenever she remembered that look of shattered hope on his face.

As much as she dreaded the possibility that Wheatley would make another try, at the same time her curiosity niggled at her. He’d obviously put some thought into this; she was actually somewhat impressed. What if she and Garret were looking too deep into it, and it _wasn’t_ as they feared? After all, he hadn’t put nearly this much effort into the first attempt, and it would be difficult for even Wheatley to deny she had been firm in her answer.

Chell gently nibbled the sore spot on her tongue, considering. Then, with the barest hint of a sigh, started towards the diner.

It couldn’t hurt to see what was on the next clue, after all.


	2. Part Two

Chell was nearly knocked off her feet the second she entered the diner as Duke barreled past her, bolting out the door to join the festivities.

“ _Michelle!_ Happy Solstice!” Romy Hatfield cried, throwing her arms around her friend and in the same breath yelling, “Boys, I told you to keep Duke either with you or in the shed!!”

Chell bore the hug (and the slight deafening) with a patient smile and a few polite pats before easing out of the embrace.

Romy allowed Chell to disentangle herself, but kept her hands on her friend’s shoulders and beamed as the twins darted past after their dog. “Are you excited for tomorrow? I love the solstice festival – all the lights, and the snow, and the presents…!” Romy clucked her tongue. “The boys have been driving me crazy, trying to find theirs before it’s time, but there isn’t a single person in Eaden who’s better at hiding things than me. How about you? I imagine it must be just as hard keeping Wheatley’s present a surprise – ” she craned her neck to look over Chell’s shoulder, “ – Where _is_ he, anyway…?”

Chell shrugged. Romy tilted her head, then mirrored the gesture. “Hunh; guess you to _aren’t_ connected at the hip – I was starting to wonder! It’s just odd, though, seeing one without the other. First him, then you – ”

Romy’s eyes widened, and she clapped her hands together. “Oh! That’s right! He dropped by earlier! Said the same thing to him. Gave me something for you… now where did I put it…?”

Chell waited as Romy stepped back, patting herself down. With the solstice festival tomorrow, the diner was actually open for once to provide food for the hungry workers. Romy’s front was covered by a battle-scarred apron with a large pouch pocket in the front, from which she produced the next clue with a flourish. “Ah! Here we are,” she said.

She hesitated before handing it over. “I hope you don’t mind, but I couldn’t help peeking – are you on a scavenger hunt?”

Chell waggled her hand from side to side in front of her. “Kind of,” she said.

Romy made a neutral noise. “Well, if you ‘kind of’ need help solving it, let me know,” she said. She gave a wink as she offered the note. “This is just so cute – he really knows you, huh? Giving you a puzzle to solve.”

It took everything Chell had to be gentle as she pulled the clue from Romy’s fingers. The conversation was edging towards uncomfortable territory, and she didn’t like it.

The note was short and to the point.

_wot_   
_you think since i DiDnt go to MY Best mates iD go to YOURS?_   
_honestly luv theres no Point in keePing at it_   
_just turn arounD go home and listen to the RaDio until I get Back_   
_your not going to finD me_   
_even if you ask Aaron_

Romy lifted herself on the balls of her feet, trying to keep pace with Chell’s reading. “Still hasn’t gotten the hang of those letters, huh? Don’t worry too much about it – it took Max years before he could spell ‘guarantee’ without saying ‘gwar-en-tee’ to himself. Any idea what this could mean?” she asked.

Chell shook her head. “Other than that Aaron has the next clue? No,” she said.

“You have any others?”

Chell took out the other two notes and handed them over. Romy took all three and bustled over to the nearest table, spreading them out in front of her. She chewed her bottom lip and narrowed her eyes as if she could stare them into revealing their secrets. Chell watched her, folding her arms across her chest as she waited.

“These are written weird,” Romy announced. Chell couldn’t stop her eyes from giving a quick roll, earning herself a frown. “I mean, more than just ‘Wheatley-wrote-them’ weird. Look – for the most part, they’re written like he talks. But there’s just… certain places where it seems… _weird._ Like he’s forcing a conversation.”

“Which parts?” Chell asked.

Romy shrugged. “I can’t quite tell,” she admitted. She made a face at Chell. “Hey, I said I’d _help_ you, not _solve_ it for you.”

“Thank you, Romy – you _did_ help, really,” Chell said, collecting the pages from her friend and folding them into her pocket. “I’ll go see if Aaron’s clue has what I need to put it all together.”

“Alright, Michelle – have fun!” Romy called, waving her friend out the door.

She had a point, Chell thought as she headed back down the street. It _was_ unusual to walk anywhere without her talkative shadow looming over her shoulder, pointing out things she’d already noticed and treating the mundane as a miracle. While it could get exasperating, it brought its own strange kind of joy on occasion.

Chell had a pragmatic mindset. She noticed beauty and color, but never spent much time examining them unless there was a tangible benefit. The awe she’d felt exploring her new world that first year had been more that there _was_ an outside world, not what was in it. She was too busy reveling in the fact that could walk anywhere, eat anything, drink as much as she wanted, for no other reason than she wanted to. There were no goals, no tests. She could dress herself for comfort and even _style_ should she decide to give the effort, rather than utility.

It hadn’t been until Wheatley had started living with her that she noticed the way the buildings had a deranged, cobbled-together look to them, or the way you could see the roads disappear into the horizon on a clear day. He had pointed out that there were exactly twelve ducks that summered at the pond and one very unfriendly goose.

Wheatley was drawn to small, strange details like that, and Chell had to admit the frivolous minutiae added a strangely charming depth to the world.

Before him she had been able to _look_ , but he was the one who taught her to _see_.

A small flicker of emotion shot through her and was gone before she could identify it. Chell frowned to herself; this had started as just a fun little riddle, but the closer she got to the solution the more uncomfortable thoughts were springing up. The idea of going home and ignoring everything was getting more and more appealing by the minute.

The door to Eaden General was unlocked as always. The interior was blissfully warm, and Chell let out a soft sigh as she made her way to the stairs at the back of the shop.

Just as she turned the corner, Chell found herself blinking up at Aaron Halifax’s knowing smile. “Figured you’d be by sooner or later,” he said, “Come on up.”

Chell hesitated, then obediently headed up the stairs.

Unlike the utilitarian ground floor, the warm earthen tones of Aaron’s living quarters were comfortable and inviting. The furniture was well-worn, and rather than seeming threadbare instead conveyed a homey, lived-in feel that spoke of a rich history. The living room and the kitchen were the largest rooms on this floor, with a short hallway ending in a pair of closed doors mirroring each other.

“You want something to drink?” Aaron asked, closing the front door behind him. Chell nodded as he passed, then followed him into the kitchen. She really didn’t, but now that she was here she knew Aaron would not let her leave without one.

Taking off her scarf and coat and folding them over the back of the kitchen chair, Chell took her seat and folded her hands in her lap. Aaron took down two ceramic mugs from his cupboard. “You’ve got good timing – the pot just finished steeping,” he said over his shoulder, steam billowing around him as he poured.

He crossed the kitchen and offered her a mug. Chell accepted it with a smile of thanks. She was not the only person Wheatley had gotten to, it seemed.

“I assume you’re here for this,” Aaron said, taking his seat and sliding the next clue across the table to her. Chell nodded, but didn’t move to read it. She kept her eyes on her mug, watching Aaron out of her peripheral vision.

Like her, Aaron was not the type to speak needlessly. He was more than willing to let the silence grow, and there was never the uncomfortable expectation to have it filled that plagued most other people. Minutes passed without a word being spoken.

He leaned back in his chair, studying her. When it became apparent she wasn’t going to talk or read, he gave a little shrug and leaned his elbows on the table. “He dropped that off this morning – he was waiting for me when I rolled up,” he said, tapping the note. “Kept going on and on about how he’d figured it out and things would be better.”

A muscle twitched in Chell’s cheek as her jaw tightened. It was just as she and Garret had feared. That claustrophobic feeling tightened around her chest before settling into the pit of her stomach in a sullen lump. Shoving her discomfort to the back of her mind, Chell took a small sip of her tea.

Aaron tilted his head at her. “Everything alright?” he asked, the two words managing to hold a surprising amount of meaning. He held up his hands to ward off Chell’s narrow-eyed stare. “You know I’m not one to pry, but I can’t help but notice things have been… _itchy_ … between you two since the harvest festival,” he said.

Chell tore her eyes away from him and fixed them in a pointed manner on her mug. _She_ could barely understand what she was feeling; how could she possibly explain it to someone else? She could talk as much as Wheatley and she doubted she’d be able to put it into words; the quiet fear that she would no longer be able to depend on herself for her own happiness, that she’d gone and attached something very important to a six-foot-seven collection of knees and elbows and how much she wanted her old life back but at the same time the thought of him not being there lodged in her throat and clawed at her heart.

Change had crept up on her like a thief in the night, slowly skewing her world just a bit at a time, inch by tiny inch, in small enough increments that she hadn’t noticed. It had taken the sight of him doing a controlled fall onto one knee for her to realize just how much her world had grown without her consent. Gone were her quiet days and peaceful tranquility. Just getting a moment to herself was a battle, and there were times it was very hard to ignore the desire to smother the source of the constant noise with a pillow while he snored.

She didn’t want him to leave, but she couldn’t stand the thought of him staying.

How could a normal person explain all that and have it make sense, much less her?

When he saw that he would get no reply, Aaron gave a soft grunt and pushed himself to his feet. “Follow me,” he said, “I wanna show you something.”

Chell glanced up at him. True to his word, Aaron never pried – but he rarely offered anything of himself, either. Curious, she rose and followed him as he walked to the back of his living quarters.

Aaron opened the door on the left and gestured with his head for Chell to look inside. She looked past him –

Her jaw dropped, and she stepped into the room, her eyes wide with wonder.

Whatever she expected, the clay potting troughs filled with tall, spear-shaped plants was not it. It was well into winter, but each verdant spire was lush with bell-shaped blossoms ranging in color from vibrant violet to silver-gray to pure white. On the east wall was a set of shelves heavy with gardening necessities: heavy bags of soil and fertilizer on the bottom, trowels and buckets and hand rakes and things she had no clue what they were called filling the others. The south and west walls were set with large windows that allowed the weak sunlight in to provide what nourishment it could. They also let the blooms stand vigil over their metallic namesake, whose lights blinked a lazy pattern in the distance.

She turned to find Aaron watching her, a small smile on his face and his eyes seeming older than she’d ever seen them.

“I hate gardening,” he said simply.

Chell blinked.

He regarded the flowers with a look of fond exasperation. “It’s hell trying to keep these things alive in winter. They’re hardy, but if you let their soil fall below a certain temperature or dry out, they’ll wither. You have to have a certain mixture of potting soil and sand, and watch for aphids and prune them so the side roots can grow and make sure they get enough sunlight but not too much and it’s all a pain in the neck,” he grouched.

His face softened and his eyes became distant. “My wife was the one who loved these things,” he said quietly. “Drove me crazy, having me constantly help her haul bags and dig holes and pull weeds. I swore up and down that one day I’d salt the ground just so I’d never have to touch a shovel again. It only got worse when she started bringing them indoors – I couldn’t hardly see out of my windows for all the plants hanging in ‘em. Let me tell you, as nice as flowers smell it gets rough when you crowd them all in a tight space – especially after twenty years. But she loved them, so I put up with it.

“As we got older, I started having to do more and more of the work. Her joints; they ached something awful. I hated those damn plants with everything I had, but they made her happy.

“When she passed – ” he cleared his throat, and Chell pretended she hadn’t heard his voice crack, “ – when she passed, I dug them all up. Threw out every single stalk and frond and clay pot that I could get my hands on. I felt like I had something torn out of me right here,” he put his hand on his chest, “and I took it out on the things she loved because it hurt too much to look at them.”

He looked down at Chell. “But you know what the hell of it was? After about a week, I caught myself thinking how gloomy the place looked, and how that window let in the perfect amount of light. After the second week I broke down and bought a single plant – her favorite,” he said, tilting his head at flowers.

He looked at them again, his face easing back into a smile. “And you know what? I felt just a little bit better. Well, then that died because even though I’d helped out for years, I knew jack-all about gardening. So I bought another. When that died, I bought another – and slowly learned how to keep them alive.

“I still hate gardening just as much as I did on the very first day I met her,” he said. “But as long as I do it, I keep her with me. I’ll never stop missing her, but I keep that hole inside me from feeling so empty.”

Aaron fell quiet, as if exhausted from exposing so much of himself. Feeling that she’d lingered there long enough, Chell slipped past him into the hall. A thoughtful silence settled over them as he closed the door, and Chell regarded him in a new light.

Her only knowledge of Aaron had been what she’d experienced since she’d come to live here. Just as he respected her hesitation to share her past, she had respected his. While gossip was alive and well in Eaden, people were considerate of the fact that not all stories were meant to be shared. She’d never known his wife had died, much less that he had even been married in the first place. She felt a small thrill and a deep sense of gratitude that she had been trusted with this knowledge, heartbreaking as it was.

She wasn’t quite sure how to respond, however. She felt that a lesson had been presented, but she didn’t know how to pass the test.

Aaron gave a soft chuckle and he led her back to the kitchen. “The point of all this was more than to just show you my hobbies,” he said as they sat down. “When you live with somebody – when you care about them – you stop being just _you._ You open yourself up and take them into you, and in return you give a part of yourself to them. And you don’t get to turn it off and on – it’s all or nothing. And letting someone in like that, it changes you.” He harrumphed. “You wind up driving to Depot in the middle of a Michigan winter to buy a new damn potting trough because your old one got a crack in it and was letting the cold in.”

Coming back to the present, he tapped his mug as if she were the one whose attention had wandered. “For someone that’s only had to worry about themselves for most of their life, that change is scary as hell.

“But you gotta decide which is better for you: keeping them at arms’ length, or letting them in.”

Chell stared at him for a long moment, then broke eye contact, her thoughts swirling. She cradled the mug in her hands, enjoying the warmth and the familiar smell. It brought a small sense of comfort; something she desperately needed right now.

Aaron watched her for a moment, his eyes on her hands. Then he leaned back in his chair and twined his fingers over his belly, giving her a reassuring smile. “But I think you already have your answer – you just don’t want to admit it,” he said as he sipped his drink. He made a face as he swallowed. “Tea’s gone cold. Want me to freshen you up?” he asked. Chell shook her head. Aaron grunted and stood, taking her mug and moving to the sink.

As he washed the dishes, Chell’s eyes strayed to the note. Before she could think about it too much she pulled the note to her. There was a quiet desperation to this one, as if Wheatley had run out of ways to be subtle about his clues.

_tolD you Aaron coulDnt help you_   
_looks like youll just have to wait until i get Back to get your Present_   
_Dont worry youll love it_   
_its Perfect for you it really is_   
_suits you like a Glove_   
_((But its not a glove))_   
_((Definitely not a glove that woulD be a terriBle gift))_   
_((not a Pair of gloves either))_   
_((while that is a slightly less terriBle gift its not as gooD as what ive got))_   
_((which is not gloves))_   
_((But it will suit you like one))_   
_((or a Pair))_   
_((you know what I mean))_

Well, there was that mystery solved.

Chell reviewed the other notes, and now that she knew what to look for the words almost jumped out at her from where they’d been crowbarred into use. She let out her breath and folded the papers into one neat little stack, then shoved them into her pocket.

Aaron looked over his shoulder at her. “So what are you going to do?” he asked.

Chell met his eyes, then got up, collected her things, and left without answering. She slipped through the general store and out the front door, closing it gently behind her. She looked south to the radio tower.

Then she turned north and headed back to her home.


	3. Part Three

The house just as was empty and silent as it had been this morning.

After leaving Aaron’s, she had retreated to her bakery, trying to lose herself in the heat of the oven and the repetitive motions. This was her comfort ritual. It was supposed to be calming her down and helping her find a measure of peace. She had done this hundreds of times over the years as a defense mechanism against the night terrors that had plagued her since her escape. After a while, the quiet would calm her nerves, and she could pick and parse her feelings from a neutral standpoint.

But the calm would not come.

The repetition was making her restless, and in her impatience several of her baked goods had come out not quite up to her standards. There were no too-large feet tromping up and down the stairs, no questions or exclamations being shouted across the house. She had never before realized that silence could be a physical thing pressing against her, making her want to slap her hands on the counter just to reassure herself that she could still hear.

There was nothing to distract her, which in itself was now a distraction. There was something wrong, and she didn’t know how to fix it.

It was almost as if she was _bored._

She was brutalizing a wad of dough, kneading it with rough and jerky motions when a small knock sounded at the door.

Chell stopped, looking up from her work for the first time in hours. She was breathing hard from her exertions, a slight sheen of sweat covering her skin. Abandoning the dough, she swiped the back of her forearm across her brow as she moved to the front door. She pulled it open to find Ellie Otten blinking up at her.

“Your monster gave me this,” she said, holding up a folded piece of paper. Chell took it but didn’t look away from Ellie.

“Where did you get this?” she asked.

Ellie shrugged. “Your monster showed up at the farm this morning. Mommy and Daddy had to come to help with the solstice, but they said he could wait with Foxglove, and then he gave me that,” she said, gesturing. “He said if you were still in the house when we headed home to give you that.”

Chell nodded. Well, that explained her running away earlier. “Thank you – you’d best get back to your parents, now,” she said.

Ellie nodded, her eyes large and solemn, then turned and darted away.

Chell opened the note as she pushed the door shut.

_if you get this  
well  
you never Do fail to surPrise me Do you  
Alright  
i aDmit i DiD not Plan on you actually listening to that note I left By the tea tin  
Definitely saw you Doing as you usually Do and comPletely ignoring any anD all instructions  
then you woulD go to see Garret anD Romy anD Aaron anD it was all very clever  
mayBe a Bit TOO clever  
you are suPPoseD to have Brain Damage after all  
um  
carDs on the taBle  
Putting it Plain  
come meet me at Foxglove  
i have something for you  
_… _Please…?_

Chell read it twice more, leaning against her door. She let her hand drop as she looked around her home.

Her _home_.

She had lived here for five years, and if the world was kind she would live here for the rest of her life. This was the first place she had felt safe since escaping from Aperture. It had been her haven as she recovered, a place where she could retreat when life outside the labs became too much. In her short time here she had already built up a good supply of memories in this house.

She could easily remember the first time she had accepted someone into her home – Aaron and Romy, who had appeared to bring her housewarmings gifts of furniture and food, respectively. This had been where she’d first laughed, where she had broken down and wept, where she had cowered under her blankets when the less pleasant recollections had overwhelmed her. She had learned to trust here, learned that there were people she could trust and what it was to hope.

This was her home.

But it was no longer hers alone.

Wheatley’s presence was like a fine dusting of ash after a forest fire, just barely starting to settle over everything. But it was building up, and soon it would be a smothering layer, tainting everything with its touch.

The doorframe, where he’d smacked his head the first time he’d entered her house – and almost every other time since. The floor next to the couch, which not only had done service as a Wheatley landing pad but had been cold and unyielding when she’d looked through his eyes and saw her first glimpse of her life before Aperture – a life with him (tangentially) in it. The two footprints scorched into the kitchen floor and had resisted every attempt at removal. The mattress, where she had learned that even after everything he’d done she still trusted him, and had then gotten her first glimpse of the miserable, scared, lonely man he was underneath the unyielding optimism and chatter. The shower, where she had first pressed her naked body against his…

Upstairs in the bedroom, her plain mattress now sat on a set of boxsprings, supported by an actual bedframe. She had a nightstand to rest her pebble-like light on, and slowly but surely she was starting to accumulate decorations, transforming the room from a place where she slept into her… _their_ … room.

She could do this because she no longer had a real worry about breaking anything. No matter the hour, when her night terrors caused her to start thrashing and kicking, Wheatley would pull her close to him, whispering soothing words into her ear. His voice and his warmth brought her peace, since he could understand her pain – he’d been there for most of it. If there had ever been a time she had slept as well she did not remember it.

All because of him.

Chell’s jaw tightened.

The lump of dough was granted a stay of execution as she threw on her coat and dashed out the door.

///

The sun was only a memory by the time Chell made it to Foxglove. This far from town, the only illumination came from the strings of fairy lights that had been twined around the tower’s massive legs. A small shack, only a few months old, nestled against one of the hooves – it had been provided to give Wheatley a place to broadcast from. Muted carols escaped the shack’s thin walls and wafted through the air, snatches of lyrics playing at her ears.

Chell’s breath formed a misty plume in front of her as she slowed. The shack was dark and empty; where in the world could he –

“Oi, oi!”

She was tense enough that she almost lashed out as she whirled, remembering herself just in time. Wheatley skidded to a halt, his eyes wide. His long legs looked almost comical underneath the heavy coat he wore, and only a small portion of his face was visible between his scarf and the wool knit cap. “Whoa, hold on! Wait! It’s me!” he cried, holding his gloved hands in front of him. “I mean, I’m hoping that’s the correct answer to give, and that it’s not _actually_ me you’re looking to clobber. Honestly, you could have taken my head off!”

Chell straightened, trying to force herself to relax. “I thought you were going to be waiting at Foxglove,” she said.

He frowned at her. “Well, I thought _you_ would be here before bloody sundown, but I guess it’s just a day of incorrectness for everyone,” he said. “Do you know how many bits I’ve about frozen off, waiting for you? Thank goodness for the Ottens – brilliant people; lovely people. Invited me in to warm up and eat. Just about to tuck in when I saw you fly by – you’re a tremendous runner, has anyone ever told you that? Didn’t have breath to shout, trying to keep up with you.”

A sudden gust made him draw into himself, rubbing furiously at his arms. “As I said, have to admit, expected you here _quite_ some time ago,” he said. “Thought to myself, ‘oh, she’s clever, she is. See right through you; probably come straight here, not even bother with all the clues.’ Did _not_ think you would actually stay in the house; definitely a surprise turn of events, there. You always do just the opposite of what I expect – not, not a _flaw_ , necessarily, but occasionally a bit of a pain in the arse.”

Chell managed a smile.

He grinned back at her, straightening and spreading his hands wide. “Well, in any event, here you are! Congratulations, you found me. With a lot of help, admittedly, but it’s the small victories in life. Are you ready for your present?” he said.

No, she wasn’t, but she nodded anyway.

He dug into the pocket of his coat, and Chell’s heart lodged in her throat as she saw him tug free a small jewelery box.

Wheatley toyed with it, turning it over and over in his hands. Chell tensed, ready to run if he so much as twitched towards the ground.

Her panic was bowled over by confusion as he collected her hand, then firmly pressed the unopened box into her palm and closed her fingers over it. He released her and stepped back, his smile a twitching mockery of its usual self. “Don’t worry, I’m not… I learned my lesson, last time,” he assured her, “Definitely do not want a repeat of _that_ particular experience, let me tell you. Once was absolutely enough. Could even say that was too many…”

He shook himself. “Right, sorry, not here to talk about that,” he said. “Your present. Explaining it. That’s where I’m headed with this, getting to the point.”

Despite his words, Wheatley shuffled his feet, clearing his throat and fidgeting. Chell remained silent, letting him marshal his thoughts – that, and she didn’t know what she could possibly say. His nerves seemed to have transformed him, making him not himself at all. “I know… I know I’m a bit of… I can be….” he stammered, gesturing helplessly as he tried to find the words. He sighed, lettings his arms flop against his sides. “I can be _difficult_ ,” he said. He licked his lips, his eyes darting everywhere but lighting on her every couple of seconds. “A-and you’ve… you’ve done so much for me, you really have. I know I’ve been… ungrateful, in the past. Bit of an arse, if I’m honest.”

He sighed. “Since I got this back,” he said, gesturing at his body, “I’ve been trying to figure out, well, where I’m supposed to be at, in the grand scheme of things. And, having done a bit of research, lots of hitting the books, nose to the grindstone-type work, wedding bells was right up. I mean, we’ve done everything else: Meet, check. Get familiar, check. Get _familiar_ , check… next stop, ding, that ring. That was the next step in making you happy.”

Chell looked away as remembered discomfort and shame rolled through her.

Wheatley swallowed again. “I… I’m a bit rubbish at this ‘human’ business so far. I don’t have a circuit in my head shoving out all my bad ideas anymore, no, but as I’ve come to learn this does _not_ mean that every idea I now have is a good one. As, as we’ve seen. So, really, this is the only thing I can do,” he said.

“And what _is_ this…?” Chell asked.

“ _This_ is a promise,” he said. He stilled, meeting her eyes as his face turned grim. “I may have mucked up a bit this year, but I’ll do better next year and make you happy,” he said, “And next year, I’ll do even better and make you even happier – then even better and happier the year after that. In fact, as long as I’m alive, I will dedicate myself to making sure that each year is the best year of your life. Even if that means I’m not in it anymore – though, quick note, could we save that as a last resort? Don’t want to make it seem like I’m going back on my promise already, but I _am_ hoping that’s not even on the list of ‘possible things to be asked of me.’ B-but I guess as long as there’s a step or twenty in between now and that I think it could be fitted in.”

There was a long moment where neither of them spoke. Chell studied him, taking in his earnest eyes and worried frown.

She pictured a life with him constantly underfoot, always talking and being clumsy and breaking things and all the chaos that came with him. She imagined never having a moment to herself and making herself vulnerable and losing her sanctuary, and that claustrophobic feeling crawled up the back of her throat.

Then she remembered the way the house felt empty without him, and how the silence was now a little _too_ quiet. She remembered Aaron’s hand on his chest, and the way Wheatley held her close, warding off her demons in the night.

She remembered the cup of tea she had started every morning with, and how her day never seemed complete without one.

Chell pocketed the ring and took Wheatley’s hands, pulling him close. His eyes widened, and he obligingly bent down, his lips meeting hers in the dim light.

“We are _not_ engaged,” she said sternly when they came up for air.

“Absolutely not,” Wheatley agreed.

“We are _not_ getting married.”

“Never.”

Chell kissed him again.

Out of the shack, the music suddenly swelled. “ _The snow is snowing and the wind is blowing, but I can weather the storm…_ ”

Wheatley pulled away, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Dean Martin? I didn’t queue up any Dean Martin…!”

Chell rolled her eyes and hauled him back down, and neither of them paid any more attention to the music drifting through the night air.

“ _What do I care how much it may storm, I’ve got my love to keep me warm…_ ”


End file.
